


Crooked Spoons

by misura



Category: Now You See Me (2013), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:56:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1682426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I know how you did it," someone says from behind him. "Bending the spoon."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crooked Spoons

**Author's Note:**

> OK, so, I don't think there's any time line at all in which these two guys could actually meet, but I really liked the idea that they would?

"I know how you did it," someone says from behind him. "Bending the spoon," and normally this would be routine, all par for the course, except that the show's been over for a solid half hour - nobody went for the hundred bucks, but a couple of people put a couple of dollars in the hat when Jack passed it around at the end, so he figured he'd be writing today off as 'not a complete loss'.

Now, instead, he figures he might be writing it off as 'another narrow escape'. (Call him crazy, but those are the good ones, really, and not _just_ because the take's usually better.)

Jack turns, smile already fixed in place, the conversation planned two steps ahead.

"You do, huh?" He doesn't say: _and you had to follow me around for thirty minutes before telling me?_. Some people might find that a tad creepy, but Jack isn't one of them.

A tad _exciting_ , maybe. Jack hasn't been making a conscious effort to lose any tails, but he knows he hasn't been making it easy, either.

Getting away from this guy after lifting his wallet and his watch might get tricky. Jack feels a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes," the guy says. He's tall - taller than Jack. Good-looking, in a slightly edgy kind of way that's caused (Jack decides) mostly by the expression on his face.

 _Intense._ Jack's small fry when it comes to magic, really, and he knows it. He likes working crowds, street shows, which means no stages, and few props. _Way intense._

He's no Daniel Atlas, with his own website and a couple of thousand of 'friends' on FaceBook.

People don't post messages saying that Jack Wilder is 'totally hot'. Generally speaking, they don't even know his name - one of the small disadvantages that come with pick-pocketing a member of your audience seven times out of ten.

"Sorry, man. That offer of a hundred bucks was during the show only. I mean, for all I know, you just looked it up on-line. You know?"

The guy looks confused, then (strangely) disappointed. He reaches into a pocket of his jacket, and for one moment, Jack imagines it might be a weapon - a knife, he thinks; it suits the guy better than a gun somehow. He can probably run away from a whacko with a knife.

"Look," the guy says, not holding a knife. A spoon. "From Mel's Deli. Like yours," and Jack thinks _oh_ because this is a whole new level of mad from what he'd previously thought was possible, and -

\- the spoon bends.

"You see?" the guy asks.

"That's a very good trick, sir," Jack says. It's got to be a trick, of course it's a trick. People can't really bend spoons with their minds - that's crazy talk. "I can see - "

His hand is suddenly stuck to the wall. Or no, not his hand. _My wrist. My_ watch _._

"It's not a trick," the guy says, and Jack's mouth goes dry. (Even so, he's already working at getting his watch off, at getting free.)

"Sorry," Jack says, because _it is when I do it_ seems unlikely to improve the situation. "I'm sorry, man. I'm just an ordinary guy, trying to make a buck. Didn't mean any harm."

"Is that why you take people's wallets?" Jack feels his watch stop trying to melt into the wall. "Because you don't mean any harm?" Less intensity now, and a certain amount of amusement, which is good. Probably.

"I only steal from people who deserve it," Jack says. Now is really not the time to freak out about someone having apparently followed him around for a hell of a longer time than half an hour.

"People who expose your trick, you mean."

"If you knew it was a trick all along, why - "

"I thought _that_ was the trick," the guy says. "That you were just hiding what you really were in plain sight. It seemed clever."

Jack rubs his wrist, slipping his watch in his pocket while he's at it, just in case. "Sorry to disappoint?"

The guy sighs and shakes his head. "I should have known."

Jack imagines actually being able to bend spoons with his mind. It sounds pretty cool. "So you are - what? Some sort of superhero?"

"Not really," the guy says. "I find people. And then I kill them."

"Like you found me?" Jack asks. "Look, man - "

"No," the guy says. The watch in Jack's pocket quivers. "Bad people. People who deserve to die."

"Definitely meaning harm, huh?" Jack feels slightly light-headed. Discovering you're not about to get killed by some hot guy with superpowers might do that to a person, he imagines. "Need a hand?"

The guy stares at him.

Jack shrugs. "Figure it might be cool to actually do something useful with my life. You know?"

"You're not like me. Why would you want to help me?"

Jack feels he's sort of already answered that one. "I can still be a handy guy to have around, even if I can't do that thing you do. Well, not for real, anyway. So how about it?"

Silence.

"Name's Jack Wilder, by the way." Jack holds out a watch-less hand, waiting. He might look back on this moment one day and regret it - but then, he figures that's a lot better than looking back and wondering what might have happened if he'd just walked away.

After maybe five seconds, the guy takes it. His hand feels warm, and strong. _I find people. And then I kill them._ "Erik Lehnsherr."


End file.
